


After the Storm

by juliettdelta



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Angst, Science, Set after movie, Swearing, fabulous gangster, manic scientist, not like tons but some, probably like way slow build, rating to be change, you know what fuck it there's a lot of swearing.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliettdelta/pseuds/juliettdelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one quite knows what happens after the apocalypse fails to show. Everyone feels like they're in the credit section of a movie. Newton worries about his future and whether it will involve playing with dead kaiju, and Hannibal worries about how to make acid proof fabulous suits, and they both worry about strange visions of the Anteverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything Settles

Of all the things Newton Geiszler thought he would think about after he saved the world, Hannibal Chau was nowhere near the top of the list. And yet, as he drunkenly listened to the continued multilingual cheers of Hong Kong Shatterdome, the ridiculous, colourful and reasonably terrifying gangster was on his mind. He had been unexpectedly sad to see him get eaten by Otachi's spawn, he realised. Now maybe it was the absurdly strong vodka they had (respectfully, and with many toasts to their memory) raided from the deceased Kaidonovskys' stash, and maybe the was the huge mental strain of drifting with a kaiju twice (and Hermann, which was a whole new level of terrifying), but his thoughts kept drifting (he giggled) to the gold clad gangster. He hadn't paid all that much attention to the man because come on, busy getting molested by Otachi and saving the world. But he couldn't deny the man intrigued him. The PPDC didn't have all that much intel on him, at least not anywhere easily accessible to Newt, but he had a feeling the guy wouldn't let them know all that much either. He decided to see what he could worm out of their systems later tonight. His head was kind of pounding maybe tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Afternoon was good. 

He groaned, and looked around the room. There weren't actually anyone he knew here, he noticed. Familiar faces, yes, but no one he'd even consider an acquaintance. If they passed on the street outside the Shatterdome there might be a nod of recognition, but who ever left the Shatterdome these days. He had once, and gotten molested by both Kaiju and gangsters for his trouble. Nope. The outside was overrated, even if the inside was dull and filled with people with in no way enough appreciation for his work. He was struck by how few people here he had ever interacted with, probably for these reasons. He was good at talking about things he didn't feel a particular interest for. If it was about music or kaiju or science then, well, was there that much of a point to it? It didn't really matter that much to him if one of the Wei triplets (rest in peace, he thought, and toasted the air) had dated that one babe from J-tech. Admittedly he pried into Hermann's private life as much as humanly possible, but honestly that was just because Hermann got so annoyed and come on, annoyed Hermann was his greatest source of entertainment in this place. 

The drink made his mind pleasantly swirly, and he floated gracefully through the usually sterile corridors of the Shatterdome (He would later be informed that he stumbled like an idiot, but refused to believe that could have been the case). He exchanged happy small talk with several people, but he did not remember who the next day. It was a daze of sorrow and celebration, and he got swept away repeatedly. He had vague flashes of congratulating Raleigh and Mako, who both looked happy and exhausted, and awkwardly paying his respects to Herc. He felt reasonably sure he had said something terribly inappropriate to at least two of them, but that was probably not anything unusual. He finally somehow ended up in his and Hermann's lab, and sank down to the floor. It was quieter than the muffled music outside, but the dull thud kept vibrating through his head. Or maybe that was his heart. He didn't know. He breathed deeply. His gaze focused on the tanks of kaiju innards that littered his side of the lab. They seemed different after his drifts. More alive somehow. He didn't like it. Leaning heavily on the cold, hard wall Newt briefly wondered what he would do now the kaiju were gone. The options were painful. Stop. The programme would be stopped, undoubtedly. After all, what was the point in jaegers without any kaiju to fight? No one would pay him and Herm to do K-science any more. There would be no point. He drank some more vodka, wincing. Was the coolest period of his life over? Everything he had worked on for the last decade of his life? Maybe. He would have to leave Hong Kong, at any rate, which was a shame. He liked the food. And the gangsters. Wait. He did not just think that. Nuh-huh. Pranksters, he meant, probably. Or something. He took another swig. His bad eye throbbed in irritation. His body was not totally down with the celebrations. He didn't blame it. Kaiju drifts and being threatened by at least two kaiju and one rather fabulous gangster and verbally abused by like, the entire Shatterdome. But the latter he was kinda used to. He sighed again, and tried to get comfortable on the cold floor, using a stack of papers as a pillow, because he was clearly not going to muster enough energy to get up again for a few hours. Like 40 of them.

–

Everything was blue and everything burned. Hannibal panted as he collapsed on the concrete ground, having cut his way out of Otachi's now dead foetus. His skin was rough and red and only barely there, and his suit was almost certainly ruined. God damn it. The thing had cost him a fortune. One of his shoes were missing, too. He growled, and discovered that moving his facial muscles made everything worse. Every single movement made everything worse. He looked around, but the area was deserted. His god damned crew couldn't even harvest a fucking baby without him. They were going to have to clear up the emergency protocol up when he got back. Clear it up with knives and fists and possibly he would dissolve someone extra useless in acid. Grimacing (and then immediately regretting it) he began to limp toward the nearest phone he could find or steal. His own no longer had a screen. Or any mass to speak of. Actually it was a pool of sludge in the inner pocket of his jacket, which he to his regret had to shed because melted cellphone was not a substance you wanted near your skin.

It took him half an hour to get hold of a phone. People paid him no mind, which was unusual. Being a huge, gold clad, intimidating foreigner usually made people look up. But everyone seemed to be distracted. Maybe the damned PPDC succeeded in whatever it was they were trying. He snorted. Unlikely. It was a while before the car managed to get to him. Massive destruction, the driver explained. Dead kaiju and destruction and huge crowds of people everywhere. Hannibal wasn't interested in that. At the moment his only interests were a shower and some serious medical attention. And possibly a new suit.


	2. Backlash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saving the world and getting eaten isn't without minor drawbacks for anyone.

_Visions of strange worlds flooded Newton's mind. The hazy blue light that seemed to illuminate all pulsed weakly to an irregular rhythm. Forms that adhered to no rules loomed above him maliciously, strange and numerous eyes blinking erratically. Wherever he turned the world seemed to warp, the larger landscape lurking just out of focus. Cliffs seemed to rise, or possibly fall. Waves of solid mass collided into them, sending up sparks of bright blue. The geometrically impossible structures seemed filled with eldritch life. Every one of them watched him intensely. He realised he should be petrified, but all he wanted to do was the bring the world in to focus. To see it properly. The world trembled, and waves of noise hit him, boring into him like hooked claws._

“Newton!” a voice shouted. “Newton, what on Earth- Newton!”

Newt blinked, confused at first at all the non-blue colours around him. Someone was still shouting his name. The voice was high pitched and annoying. He blinked again. Yup, it was Hermann.  
“Hey, dude, what are you-?” Newt began.  
“What in God's name happened to you?” Hermann asked, catching himself cradling Newt and dropping the scientist somewhat unnecessarily hard back onto the floor. Newt frowned.  
“Nothing, Hermy dude, I'm fine,” he said, sitting up and feeling something trickle down his face. He swiped a finger through it, which came away bloody. Uh-oh.  
“You were having some kind of seizure,” Hermann said gravely, and then almost not totally hidden concern was touching, it really was. Newt shook his head.  
“Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I was just dreaming, dude, it's fine, just lemme get back to sleep,” he replied, yawning. He started to lay back down on his relatively comfy patch of floor, but Herman wouldn't let him.  
“No, you are coming with me to medical, Dr. Geiszler,” the stern scientist informed him. No more first names? Must be a good sign, Newt thought, and vomited on the floor before getting up. He followed Hermann, half leaning on him through the dome. He noted with satisfaction that other people had followed his great example and were sleeping slumped in corners, too tired or drunk to get back to their quarters. He took full credit.

There was nothing wrong with him, as far as the medics could determine. Just stress and poor self care skills. Hermann huffed and said that he could have told them that. In fact he had, repeatedly, but Newt knew one of the guys and had convinced them to leave him alone to his work. Newt felt sort of weirdly grateful for Hermann's concern, even if it was a super weird and formal way of expressing it. On their way back to Newt's quarters, he surprised (shocked, scared, attacked) Hermann with a grateful hug. Hermann swatted him off with his cane, but almost kind of smiled when he thought Newt wasn't looking. Newt did a mental fist pump, which also turned out to be an actual one because hey, poor impulse control and still kind of drunk.

When he awoke properly the next morning he groaned, loudly, and spent an hour sitting on the floor of the shower. The constant water – at first hot, now not so much – made him feel a little better. He considered what he half remembered the medics and Hermann saying. A seizure. Those were kind of bad, right? It was probably left overs from his drift with the Kaiju. Probably the first one. It would have been worse, both because he was less prepared and because he had gone in solo. At least he assumed as much, given that Hermann seemed to be fine. Too early to be sure, of course, but he comforted himself with the thought. It was hard to separate the symptoms from his hangover at the moment, but he thought most of the shitty feeling could be attributed to that. He hoped so. He hadn't had another nose bleed. That was good.

He arrived at the lab some time in the late afternoon (“Shut up dude, it's like 9am in London.”) to the familiar mess. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now, but until someone told him differently he was going to keep investigating the kaiju remains he still had left. Hermann seemed to be of the same mind, and was doing some equations which Newt couldn't be bothered to look closer at. Not when he had a nice piece of Mutavore spleen that had had to wait for two the days while he saved the world. It was maybe not in as great a condition, but hey, world saved. No one got to criticise Newt for at least 48 hours. 

–

Hannibal was still in constant pain. The doctors kept telling him was insanely lucky to be alive, and he kept growling at them with increasing frustration. He knew the kaiju were acidic, it was his goddamned job to know. Didn't make the severe burns on 90% of his skin feel any less painful. He was told he was probably going to heal and most likely would not need skin grafts. Course he didn't. Long as his skin worked he was going to be fine, even if his pride was going to hurt like a bitch for even longer. On the other hand, having survived being eaten by a kaiju wasn't something many people could boast of. Eventually if would probably just further his status. This, though it was good, did not help. Neither did the burning in his dead eye. He hadn't felt anything in it for a decade now, but suddenly it had started to burn, like the acidic inside of Otachi's spawn. He had had the doctors looking at it, but they couldn't tell him anything. They said some nonsense about it being all in his head. Stupid bastards. He could tell when something was real, and this definitely was. When he slept he saw unclear blue flashes and shapes with it that lingered for a few seconds when he woke up. He never had before. When he looked at it in a mirror it seemed to him to be tinged with that same luminous blue. The blue of the kaiju. He stabbed a doctor's hand with a flick of his knife and told his crew to be extra careful harvesting the small monstrosity that had tried to digest him.

As the day went on the pain in his eye intensified. So did the blue tinge. No one else seemed to see it. He wondered if it could be a mental thing. He really didn't need any goddamned hallucinatory after effects. It was taking long enough to get back on his feet as it was. Bad enough some people had caught wind of his supposed death and had tried to harvest some precious kaiju remains for themselves (they were now dead), if he couldn't even trust his perception. What if that infantile monster had infected him with some nasty sea monster alien thing? Who knew what was inside the things. Who knew. Oh. Oh. He called on of his more trustworthy employees over to what he liked to think of not as much as a sickbed, but as a more horizontally orientated desk.

–

New buried himself in his work the whole afternoon and evening. Not only would he rather not think of all the people who had been lost, but he didn't know how long he would get to continue with it at all. If the Shatterdome shut down, which, kind of likely, now that its purpose was nuked and their source of funding was dead. He was pretty sure no one else was going to want to supply him with kaiju bits to poke around him, and though he sort of could see himself looking forward to finally getting around to writing and publishing the papers that he had half written in his head but not had time to finish throughout the last decade, that would be it. Back to teaching, maybe. Boring. No one called you a rock star for teaching. Admittedly no one but himself referred to him as a rock star for sciencing either, but that was just a matter of time now.

He slept better that night. The weird dreams persisted, but he was pretty sure he didn't have any seizures and his face was blood free. Score. He kept waiting for someone to make an announcement about what was happening to the Shatterdome, but it didn't come. He asked Herman, but he just got uncomfortable and admitted that he didn't know. Newt counted this as a victory despite being equally unsure. He found some interesting effects in Mutavore's spleen, and was considering how to make use of it when he suddenly noticed something in the carefully organized chaos of his side of the lab. It was a simple, blank red card. He didn't think it had been there before. He frowned, and rooted through his tools until he found the proper equipment. Under the light a stylized version of Onibaba glowed dimly at him. Chau, he thought. Had this been here since earlier? It couldn't be, could it? Nothing that had been in his jacket pocket could be that pristine. On the other hand, it had been buried along a bunch of stuff. But he didn't recall seeing it there the day before. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was an arcane invitation to a funeral. He didn't know, but put it and any thoughts of the late Chau out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this is so much fun! Glad some people seem to enjoy it. Will try to update fairly regularly. Again sorry if I get details wrong or completely misunderstand how the English language works (in my defence it's technically my fourth language).


	3. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt is slightly less of an idiot. Hannibal is starting to build up some anger management issues.

_He was in the Anteverse again. Watching that dying plane and being watched by its soon to be corpses. The towering structures around him still housed the watchers, but there was another pair of eyes in the sky, bluer still than the rest. They bored holes in his soul._

He woke up absurdly hard, but he didn't appear to have had any more seizures, so that was good. In the shower he used all his concentration to not think about the big, rough hands of a recently deceased gangster because eww, necrophilia, that was creepy. But he remembered those hands. He remember accidentally watching them and getting distracted while he and Hannibal waited for the latter's crew to clean out Otachi's baby.

When he got to the lab after having forced down some breakfast (Hermann was making him. Checking with one of the guys who worked in the cafeteria. Totally uncalled for, Newt thought.), he found another one of the red cards. It was helpfully placed on top of the other one to avoid confusion. He examined it, but the only mark was Chau's glyph, like the last one. Weird. He was going to examine it further, but Hermann was wrong, and he didn't seem aware of it and that was not an acceptable state of affairs, so Newt went to kindly inform him of the fact. The ensuing row could probably be heard from the streets outside.

–  
Hannibal was snapping orders at his employees as they scuttled about. He was still in his bed hooked up to a couple machines too many, still full of pain killers. This was unacceptable. He had to get up and out, had to show any possible usurpers to his throne that he was still alive and kicking. Well, alive. His skin was too raw and dry and painful in general to allow much in the way of kicking. Or getting to his feet at all. Or even wearing a decent suit. He had several pair of suit pyjamas, but apparently the fabric would harm the healing of his skin, and he was stuck in some lousy green thing that smelled like a hospital. He did not feel very dignified. He had to keep rubbing some lotion crap into his skin all the time, and he wasn't allowed out of the bed. The main medic said it was a miracle he had managed to walk as far as he did, attributing it to adrenaline. That was, of course, incorrect. It was all due to the invincibility that Hannibal liked to think of as one of his better traits. He didn't bother arguing with the doc, though, because the injections of something with a funny name and a funnier smell was painful enough as it was.

The skin of his hands and face was still badly damaged and hard to move, but he had gotten a computer with voice recording, and he managed to get by looking through his records well enough. He could just have had someone read it to him and write everything down, but he didn't trust the medics not to listen to something they'd be better off not knowing. He hadn't gotten this far in life by trusting people. He'd certainly never trust a kaiju to be dead again. Not that that was going to be a problem any more. He had spent the quieter moments of the day going through the various reports of the events around the closing of the breach and the five kaiju that had attacked. Five god damn kaiju! Six if you counted Otachi's baby. Never mind the closed breach, he was gonna be in business for a while yet. And prices would sky-rocket! If he ever got out of this bed so he could do his business properly, that was. Intimidating people was hard when you were effectively helpless. He had people, of course he did, but it didn't have the same effect. They didn't have his excellent sense of style. 

–

On Newt's third day as Defender of the Earth things had begun to settle down a little bit. Routines were returning. He and Hermann had had slightly fewer fights than usual. He was unsure whether to attribute this to the fact that they had drifted together or just everyone trying to be slightly respectful to all the lives lost both in the preceding week and the war in general. It was still hard to come to terms with the fact that it was all over. A message had come from above- well. It had come from Herc. That still confused Newt. Herc being in charge. Marshall Hansen. And no Chuck. Newt hadn't liked the guy all that much, but he could still how completely broken Herc was by his son's death. As, Newt guessed, was understandable. He hadn't ever really lost anyone he was terribly close to. He suspected that was why people looked at him like sewage when he talked about the awesomeness of the kaiju. Like maybe if he'd lost the love of his life it would somehow be okay to like them? That didn't make sense to Newt. Or maybe they thought he didn't understand. Which, laughable. He was the world's foremost expert on kaiju! He had always loved giant monsters, way before they became a reality. Even if they had killed every single member of his family he thought he would still find them absolutely fascinating. Because that was it, it wasn't as if he loved them, like Hermann liked to say. He just wanted to understand them. He wanted to learn from them. They were _giant sea monsters from another universe_. Anyone who _wasn't_ interested was, in Newt's not so humble opinion, an idiot. He had, from time to time, been informed that people skills were not his forte. Who cared. He got to do experiments on kaiju innards. That was enough for him. Especially given the announcement from Her- Marshall Hansen that the K-Science project would continue. Maybe he could even talk to other scientists who weren't uptight assholes. He sighed dreamily. Hermann snorted, having apparently followed Newt's train of thoughts through their drift hangover. Or maybe Newt's facial expressions. He wasn't all that sure. He shook his head, ran an almost not kaiju-slime stained hand through his hair to make sure it retained rock star perfection even during lab work.

“There's another one,” Hermann told him, presumably while realising the futility and dullness of his mathematics.  
“Huh? Another spleen? Dude, I think you forgot your glasses again,” Newt replied, disregarding his colleague and continuing to monitor the bubbling substance on the counter. Hermann sighed again. Newt could practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose.  
“The cards. You've got another one. It was here when I came in this morning,” he said with surprising patience. Oh.  
“Huh. Weird,” he replied, beginning to root through the mess on his side of the lab. He looked for nearly ten minutes before Hermann politely coughed and pointed to the square of red paper tucked neatly under a stack of notebooks. Newt glared at him. Not awesome, dude. He picked it up, and examined it. His lamp revealed the glyph that had been on the others, which, well, expected. On the other side the words “Christ's sake, kid, I though you were supposed to be some kind of genius” were scribbled in an odd, shaky script. His first thought was of poor motor function and possible causes. His second thought, which rapidly took over, was that Hannibal Chau was alive. He supposed, in retrospect, that the first two cards were kind of obvious signs. But it couldn't be, could it? Otachi's baby swallowed him whole! Admittedly she died shortly after, but still, the acid should have killed him nearly instantly! But, important, more important, Hannibal was alive. This released a series of complicated emotions in Newt's brain. On the other side of the room Hermann's mouth stretched into a smirk, but he remained silent.  
“I'm gonna.... go get some coffee,” Newt told Hermann, walking slowly out of the lab. Hermann looked after him, gaze briefly lingering on the coffee maker Newt had insisted they get installed in the lab, and then went back to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the thing I'm going for appears to be short, but frequent chapters. I hope this doesn't bother everyone too much? Because it's kinda the only way I keep up my motivation to keep writing effectively. *gestures vaguely to three previous abandoned fics on account*  
> If I get facts wrong I apologise, please let me know. I've only seen the film once and listened to the audio book novelization and I'm kinda lazy on fact checking. Also thanks to confusedkayt whithout whom the Newt parts would probably be a lot worse.  
> Also I'm sorry Hannibal swears so much? But I've been rewatching Sons of Anarchy and been seriously traumatised by last night's premiere, so I blame that.


	4. Post Kaiju Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Hannibal finally interact.

It was around three at night, but the streets of Hong Kong were busy as ever. Newt moved as quickly as he could through the crowd. He had sorta maybe sneaked out of the Shatterdome. It had occurred to him that visiting mob bosses with which the PPDC now had not entirely clear unofficially official contracts was maybe not on the top list of what Marshall Hansen thought was absolutely awesome, so naturally he had decided not to tell anyone what he was doing. Hermann would guess, he knew, but no until morning, and really, he probably wouldn't even be gone that long. Unless Hannibal asked him to come over there just to kill him, which, actually, would he? It wasn't as if they'd, uh, parted on incredibly friendly terms. But he couldn't see any reason why Hannibal would want to kill him, either. They had done business, that was all. Okay, maybe Newt had stared at him a little. But, come on, big sparkly gangster with gold teeth. Which Newt had not previously known was his thing, but it was definitely his thing. It wasn't very likely that he was being called over for post death post not apocalypse sexy times, though. They weren't really at that stage in their relationship yet.

He got lost a few times, but eventually he ended up on the corner of Fong and Tull and made his way to the small apothecary in the alley. He entered. The same old Chinese guy was behind the counter. Newt waved his card.  
“I'm here to see Hannibal Chau. He asked for me. I, uh, I have a card, I-” Newt was cut short by the guy opening the ridiculously showy secret door. Newt was admittedly still kind of impressed. If he ever got rich enough to have a secret lair he would totally have multiple sliding walls with jars of kaiju bits in them, too. Or replicas, maybe? Actual kaiju bits were too much fun to play- uh, too important for science. Important science. Yes. He blinked. A bald and fairly scary looking lady was glaring at him from inside the lair. He grinned nervously and waved his card at her. She narrowed her eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him short, saying something sharply in Cantonese. His confusion must have been evident, because she sighed and repeatedly unnecessarily slowly in English.   
“Chau will see you. Follow me,” before turning and walking away quickly. He scrambled to follow her, muttering something about rudeness.

The interior of the lair was like a steampunk geek's wet dream; all ornate quasi-Victorian details with retro looking jars of various kaiju bits. Everything was dark wood and brass and gold, and somehow the impression managed to be both tasteful and gaudy. Newt decided he liked it, although he only got brief glances. The scary looking lady walked terribly fast, and he was half jogging. After about two minutes she stopped before a dark, ornate door. He looked at her questioningly. She indicated that he should enter, and he felt like there may possibly have been an implied snide remark about his intelligence. He would have said something, but there was a very large gun in her hand, so he decided he could be the bigger man and let it slide. He opened the door and went inside.

The room was shockingly bright compared to the rest of the lair. He wondered for a moment whether the walls were in fact white gold, but on closer inspection they appeared to be just white. An enormous bed took up a lot of the room, and Hannibal took up a lot of that bed. He looked absolutely terrible. He was hooked up to a number of machines, the purpose of which could only guess at. His skin was a dark pink and ridged, it looked like he had some pretty severe burns. The only part of him that looked the same was his ruined eye and scar. Somehow he scared Newt more now, seemingly helpless than he did when sticking a knife up his nose. Well, almost. Hannibal looked up.   
“Finally, jeez. Did you not get my message?”  
His voice was weak, and a little slurred, like the stiff skin around his mouth made pronunciation hard. He clearly still tried to talk in his normal tone of voice, but it didn't quite work. It made Newt a little uncomfortable. He tried not to let it show.  
“You were dead, dude, how was I supposed to know they weren't, like, weirdly cryptic promotional material?”  
Hannibal snorted a laugh, then winced. Newt's hands twitched imperceptibly.  
“You think I send my ads to government employees?”  
“Well, we're kinda good customers, you know. A reasonable demographic. The K-science lab has made you kind of a lot of money. I think. I don't know the numbers, but Pentecost got kinda mad about it sometimes, so I'm guessing lots,” Newt said, folding his arms and frowning. The corners of Hannibal's mouth twitched.  
“Anyway, care to explain how you're, like, not a bubbling pool of death? Because you're looking pretty sharp for someone who was eaten by a frickin' monster.”  
“You think I called the world's foremost Kaiju expert here because I already know what happened?”  
Newt shrugged. That was kind of a fair point. He righted his glasses for lack of anything better to do.  
“Yeah, okay, but like-”  
“Look,” Hannibal interrupted, his voice pained, “clearly I was no match for the digestive system of the kaiju kid. And clearly the acid levels weren't anywhere near that of the grown kaiju. Still hurt like hell, though,” continued, wincing again. Newt twitched uncomfortably again, and had an almost overwhelming urge to do something comforting. He suppressed it. He was here science stuff. Which was way better, anyhow.  
“So, uhm, why am I here? 'Cause human medicine, kinda not my thing. I mean, I know basics, obviously, I could probably infer a lot, but I'm guessing you own all the best doctors in Hong Kong, anyway, so I don't really see- I mean, unless you're going to kill me, which, please not? I'm doing kinda fascinating things with a kaiju spleen right now, it's even like possibly medically useful, and I'm too young and beautiful to die.”  
Hannibal looked like he wanted to wave his words away but couldn't muster the strength to move his arm. He did however manage a grin.  
“And why would I want to kill you, kid?”  
“Uhm, because if you're right that my drifting with a kaiju caused Otachi and Leatherback to attack when they did then it's kinda by extension my fault that you got eaten by Otachi's baby? Uhm, I should not have pointed that out should I? Damn, I-” Newt rambled.  
“Don't sweat it, kid, I'm no gonna kill you. I'm doing fine. Goddamn baby choked on me. I count that as my kill,” Hannibal reassured him gruffly.  
“I'm not sure that-”  
“Watch it, kid,” Hannibal growled in warning. Newt held up his hands in defeat.  
“So what did you with unnecessarily cryptic means get me here for?” he asked.  
“I see kaiju,” Hannibal said, utterly serious.  
“What?”  
Hannibal lifted his arm, slowly, painstakingly, to his face, gesturing to his milky eye.  
“My dead eye sees kaiju. All blue and fuzzy, but that's what it is. Mostly it's when I sleep, but there's some blue shit swirling over your shoulder right now.”  
Newt spun around, trying to see what Hannibal was talking about. The latter rolled his eyes.  
“Idiot,” he said, sounding almost fond, but maybe that was wishful thinking on Newt's part.  
“It's...” he seemed to struggle for words. “It's like a world tinted blue, filled with giant monsters I can't make out. Eye's outta shape. Keeps getting' clearer. And you are going to tell me what that means,” he informed Newt. There was definitely a hidden “or else” in there, he thought.  
“Uhm, can you, uh, can you explain a bit more what you're seeing?” he asked, he thought fairly timidly.  
“Like I said, I can't see that shit too well, but it's a giant landscape, everythin' scaled up to kaiju size, and there's things moving around, feels like they're watching me.”  
“Uhm,” Newt responded eloquently.  
“That's... Are you sure you've never drifted with a kaiju?”  
“Pretty goddamn sure, kid, why?”  
“Because I see that too. Only in dreams, so far, though, so, I don't know if it's the same thing. I figured it was just some kinda drift hangover thing, like the Jaeger pilots talk about. But if it's happening to you, it has to have something to do with being eaten, I guess,” he trailed off.  
“You think? Jesus christ what am I even paying you for?” Hannibal asked, all exasperation.  
“You're... not?” Newt asked, confused.  
“I am now,” he told Newt forcefully. “Does the marshall know you're here?”  
“Uhm, no? I kinda didn't mentioned it to anyone...”  
“Christ you're stupid for a genius. Wander into the head quarters of the most dangerous criminal in Hong Kong without any form of back up? How are you still alive?”  
Newt shrugged helplessly, and was about to speak. Hannibal interrupted him.  
“Doesn't matter. We're gonna keep it that way, you understand? I don't care what sort of stupid excuses you have to come up with, you're gonna show, and you're gonna figure out what this is, and you're gonna stop it. Capiche?”  
“But-”  
“No buts. This is not voluntary. You help me willingly, or I find a less pleasant way to convince you,” Hannibal helpfully clarified. Newt nodded weakly.  
“Okay. But, uhm, I'm gonna need some stuff from my lab and some time to do some serious thinking about this, so when do you want me to come back?”  
“I'll let you know.”


	5. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt is terrible at everything.

Newt felt like a teenager, sneaking back into the Shatterdome shortly before dawn. Except he hadn't really ever sneaked out as a teenagers. Parents had to be home for there to be sneaking, right? Anyway, there had been monster films to watch and cool instruments to play with and terrible tasteless music to be wrung from them. But the dark hallways were mostly deserted at this time of night. He waved cheerfully at a security camera as he passed it. No reason to act sneaky. Or hold on. He shrugged and continued towards the lab. He wanted to get some notes done before collapsing for some sleep. Actually maybe a couple of hours of work too, it wasn't like he was feeling relaxed, anyway.

Hannibal was doing things to his brain and Newt didn't like having things done to his brain, even if they were good things. The guy had to be messing with him, somehow, right? He didn't know. Hannibal didn't really seem like the kind of guy to make himself appear weaker than he had to just to garner sympathy from confused K-scientists. Unless he was. Probably not, though, Newt thought. Which he could only assume meant Hannibal was actually worse than he seemed. Not good. But then he had been eaten by a kaiju, even if it was a foetal one. He ran a hand through his already sufficiently ruffled hair. He couldn't decide whether to deal with the social or science side of this. The science was probably easier. And more fun. 

He entered the darkened lab eventually, and went to root through his side for a notebook. A discreet cough made him jump.

“Care to tell me where on earth you've been, Dr. Geiszler?”  
Newt hung his head. Dammit, Hermy, just once. Just once, don't know everything with that freaky math power or whatever. He sighed.

“Clearly I just woke up to do science, Hermy, unlike some so-called scientists who just creep around in labs like movie villains,” he told told him in what he didn't consider to be his most annoying voice (but probably should. Hermann rolled his eyes, observing Newt wearily. 

“Please do not call me that again, Newton. And as I have previously informed you, you are a terrible liar. You went to see Chau, correct?” he asked, voice annoyingly even. But Newt could taste the judgement. Cold, harsh, mathsy judgement. He narrowed his eyes.

“No, man, that would be totally irresponsible! He's dangerous, dude. I was just... Sleep sciencing, okay?”

“I you don't tell me, Newton, I shall be forced to inform the Marshall. This constitutes a vast security risk,” Hermann replied, still as if he was in complete control of the situation. Which, well, seemed to be an accurate assessment. Newt hated that. He shook his head.

“Look, I may have like, accidentally kind of stumbled by his lair again, but he, uh,” Newt scrambled for excuses, “just wanted that ugly shoe back. The one that wound up at that memorial thing along with all that other cra- uhm. Mementos?” he attempted, keeping, he thought, rather a straight face.

“His shoe,” Hermann stated.

“His shoe,” Newt confirmed. They stared at each other. It was evident that Hermann did not believe this, but it was also evident that Newt would stick to his ridiculous story. Hermann closed his eyes and sighed.  
“I know you are aware that I was in your brain. And I-” he trailed of, seeming unsure how to continue. Newt looked expectantly at the accusations that were headed his way. “I just want- I think... I do hope you realise I am trying to look out for you seeing as you are utterly incapable of doing such a thing by yourself,” Hermann finished. I took Newt a little while to finish sorting through the angry tone to actually catch what Herm had said, by which time the scientist had already hobbled out of the lab, kindly turning the light on as he left. That was possibly the nicest thing Hermann had ever said to him, Newt realised. He had to sit down for a little while.

-

It was weird, Hannibal thought to himself, that it was possible to be so incredibly dense while still being a genius. The first time he had met the little doc he had chalked it up to nervousness, but it seemed to just be his personality. No thoughts for anything not strictly kaiju related. Sneaking out of the Shatterdome to meet with Hannibal at four in the morning? No sane person did that. Not that sanity and genius were usually related. But they seemed separated to the extreme in Newt. He hoped he was making the right decision. Bringing in a PPDC employee was not high on his list of shit he wanted to do, but there was no denying the kid's expertise. If anyone could figure out what that goddamn kaiju had done, it was him. And the kid even claimed to be having similar dreams or visions. Hannibal's educated opinion was that this was some bad shit. But expecting a ten year alien invasion to leave no scars would be foolish. And spending that much time around the giant monster corpses was probably not his best health decision, he realised. At least, he told himself, he had the money to hopefully pay his way out of whatever his condition was. Goddamn kaiju bastards.

His morning was spent doing business: threatening people, making money and casually ruling the black market from his bed. He hated it intensely. Not the making money part, that was in fact his favourite, but he hated being confined. Hated feeling powerless. He had felt like that before, a long time ago, and he had no interest in feeling that way again. Yet here he was. His skin was only half moveable, although less stiff that the first day. His doctors promised him he would get better, but he had the distinct feeling that they wouldn't dare tell him anything else. He couldn't even find the strength to threaten it out of them, and he didn't want to let any of his people to closely in on how terrible he felt. If the scrawny scientist couldn't figure out something then someone was going to die, and right now he didn't much care who. Probably not the scientist, though. Guy might be an idiot, but he was a damn good looking idiot, and he and Hannibal could probably have some fun when everything didn't hurt so damn much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry short and less frequent chapters. Many school work that saps creativity and brain power. Should be better after wednesday.


	6. Forhandlinger

Every day Hannibal expects to feel better, and every day he feels exactly as shitty as the last. This is something he isn't used to. This is something he hates. And, apprently this is something that he has to wait for, something he can't pay his way out of. And it makes him want to stab people. Due to his spectacular self control he doesn't, though. Well. Maybe once. With a syringe. The nurse had it coming, though. He folded the sheets wrong.

Hannibal is not a man who handles pain well. Neither is he a man who handles disappointment. He stews in his anger, though, for once. He doesn't stab any more nurses or doctors for three whole days, although he keeps two knives under his pillow just in case. He would react slowly, he knows, stabs slow and clumsy because everything hurts. Doesn't matter. What matters is that everyone knows that the fact that he can't get out of bed or move well won't stop him from having every motherfucker having second thoughts about whether he's the one in charge murdered brutally. He's pretty sure that he's got the message across, given the amount of thugs his would be competitors have lost the last couple of days. It doesn't make him feel any better. 

He keeps having weird kaiju blue tinted hallucinations and dreams. They're like something out of the Lovecraft stories he read a long time ago. Strange and not conforming to the human interpretation of space and time. They disturb him, but until Newt figures it out there's fuck all he can do about it. They stay the same. He is being watched, but he can't do anything. Just observe, seemingly incorporeal. It annoys him. He feels like he should be able to shoot and loot them or something. He needs to look into modifying crap dreams.

He waits three days. That seems like a reasonable amount of time. How long does science take, anyway? He winces at his own internal monologue, but how much he's paying is usually a factor. Newt isn't going to be working faster with more money, though. Hannibal suspects the kid would work just as avidly for minimum wage and hey, working for the PPDC for the last ten years that was probably the case. He has one of his employees send another card. Surely the kid has got it figured by now?

Exactly fifteen hours later Newt shows up. He looks vaguely apologetic. Not good. He also looks like he hasn't been taking care of himself for a week. Dirty clothes, messy hair, sleep deprived. At least the kid's been working his ass of. That's reassuring. 

“What've you got, Doc?” he asks, disguising the presumed disappointment. Newt's gaze flickers to the floor, glasses just failing to catch the light enough to disguise it. 

“Uhm, kinda not a lot? Because-” and a rant follows which Hannibal is neither scientifically minded nor awake enough to follow. Because yet again Newt's showed up in the middle of the night. Apparently that's easier. Because apparently the security just doesn't care after midnight or something. It sounds like bullshit to Hannibal, but then a lot of the PPDC's doings do, so who is he to judge? All he knows is that Newt shows up in the middle of the night, waking Hannibal from his sorely needed beauty sleep. 

“Dude- Uhm, I mean, Sir? Man? Mr. Chau? Are you even following what I'm saying here?”

“Yeah, kid, keep goin',” Hannibal grumbles, and fails to stifle a yawn. Newt starts to giggle, then suddenly looks scared again. Best for him.

“Uhm, did I- Did I wake you? Cause I didn't mean to, I just-”

“You usually do business at this hour?” Hannibal asks, eyebrow raised over the edge of the shades he refuses to not wear, even though they kind of hurt his skin right now. He likes to think they disguise how tired he looks. Newt checks his wristwatch, then runs a hand awkwardly through his hair.

“Uhm, yeah. Science waits for no man,” he says, grinning stupidly. It takes very conscious control for Hannibal not to grin a bit at that. He keeps his stern gangster threatening look, though. Best to be sure.

“But what you're saying is you can't, at this point, make me stop hallucinating the alien blue fuckers?” Hannibal politely inquires.

“Well, I won't say can't, more like- I mean there are drugs that could do that, but you've probably had people tell you why that isn't an awesome idea already, I mean, they're... They're not good for your brain, is what I'm saying. Can't do it in a safe and sound manner that will last without drugs, I guess I'm saying, but the hallucinations, visions, whatever, they still happening when you're awake?” Newt asks. Hannibal briefly regards the six blue eyes observing the scene from a point beyond the left wall and also beyond the knowable universe. He nods.

“Okay. So, that's still weird. Cause I'm getting the visions in my sleep, still am, dude, but not awake. And you, uh, appear to be. So, I mean, ideally I'd like to keep you under observation and reporting what you see for a day or two, but I guess that's impractical?”

Hannibal regards the man, wondering whether the constant chattering would make him go madder than the hallucinations did. 

“Depends,” he tells the younger man, expression carefully neutral. “Can you get away with it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I swear they will get longer I just need the joy of school work procrastination to be able to write.


	7. 7

“I need a vacation. It's not really a request, by the way, I'm taking one. I saved the world, and I haven't really been paid for five months, so I figure I've got some overtime to take out. Probably like half a year of it, I don't know. I'm not going for half a year, though. More like the weekend,” Newt explains to Marshall Hansen via phone while he packs. The Marshall isn't exactly ecstatic, but he doesn't protest much. Newt's arguments are pretty fair, after all. He promises to be back in a couple of days and not get killed and very pointedly doesn't say where he's going. He packs some clothes and a couple of notebooks where he's collected what meagre data and theories he's got so far. He thinks about packing equipment but that would probably look weird considering he's claiming to go on vacation, and also Hannibal can probably easily get anything he needs. When his bag is close to bursting he decides he doesn't need anything more. Probably. Who knows what's going to happen, anyway. Who knows whether it's a good idea. If Hermann were there he would probably say something like-

“Newton, this may not be your best idea to date,” a voice says from behind him. Newt whirls around rather gracelessly, dropping his bag on his foot and squeaking in a manly fashion. Hermann is standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane. Newt will never know how he manages to be so sneaky with that thing. Old pirate films made wooden legs seem npoisy, and canes should theoretically be the same thing, right?

“Yeah, well,” Newt begins defensively. He told Hermann what he was doing. He had to. Well, Hermann made him. The sneaky mathematician has been like crazy mind reader observant lately. Ever since they drifted together, actually, which, he guesses, makes sense.

“Don't bother,” Hermann cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “I know I can't stop you. You are far too stubborn and foolish for your own good,” he continues, ignoring Newt's look of shock and betrayal, “however, in light of recent circumstances I will not report you to the Marshall. I do want you to contact me immediately if anything happens or you need help.”

That's... that's pretty nice of him, actually. When did this new, non-asshole version of Hermy happen, Newt wonders. The last couple of days? Maybe he ought to drift with people more often if it always made them this much nicer. It would certainly explain the rumours he'd been hearing about Mako and Raleigh, but no, okay, bad train of thought. He did not want to get that close to Hermy. Definitely not. No offence, buddy. He blinked. Hermann was frowning at him. Right. Conversations and stuff.

“Uhm, yeah, thanks, du- Uh. Thanks, Hermann. I really appreciate that, and, I'll let you know if Hannibal has me gutted in my sleep. You know I'll come back to haunt ya if that ever happens, right?” he replies, grinning. Hermann is wearing his usual expression of disbelief and disgust.

“But yeah, no, I'll be careful. Promise! Hannibal's sort of, uh, bedridden anyway, so I doubt he'll be stabbing me any time soon,” he continues, and that apparently was not the right thing to say, because Hermann's face is doing a weird thing, and he doesn't know what it means, and he doesn't really want to know, so. Yeah, he's gonna leave now. He pats Hermann sort of friendly on the shoulder, says goodbye, and leaves his fellow scientist to his weird facial spasms of repressed fury.

–

It's somewhere near nine in the evening when he finally arrives at the pharmacy concealing Hannibal's lair. The sky is dark and neon lights everything up in all the colours of the rainbow. It reminds Newt of how he used to picture cyberpunk type dystopian cities when he was a kid. Which, he guesses, kinda fitting. It is technically a post apocalyptic time, right? Except not so much with the apocalypse actually happening. Because of him, he adds to himself, grinning. Good times.

Once inside he is rushed around again, although this time he tries to keep track of where they're going. He kinda fails, but maybe he can convince Hannibal to have someone draw up a map or something for him. Probably not. The intimidating bald lady who seems to be his regular guide to the labyrinthine Cave of Crime leads him to the same door as two days previously, and he enters. He wonders whether she stays outside at all times. If people actually make it this far into the complex when they try to assassinate Hannibal, something it disturbs Newt to realise is something that probably is kind of a regular thing. Wow, maybe Hermann was right.

Hannibal looks better today. His skin looks more like what normal non-burnt human skin is supposed to look like, but it's still weird to see him without his absurdly ornate suits. He's still hooked up to a bunch of machines, so he can't exactly be healthy, but he seems more awake than last time, too. Although that could possibly be related to Newt's timing.

“Hey kid,” he says gruffly, probably looking up from the tablet he's using. Newt doesn't know, he's wearing the shades, as always. They look incredibly out of place.

“Hi, man. I managed to get a couple days off from the Shatterdome. Told 'em I was going on a vacation, which, you know, I probably should. I have like six month of unpaid overtime, at least... Not that I mind, I mean, world saving privileges and all, and that's pretty cool. It would just be nice with some days-” and hey, Hannibal's waving dismissively. Rude. Not that Newton isn't used to it. Still.

“So what's your plan? Gonna hook me up to even more machines, make write a damn dream journal, what?” Hannibal asks. Newt's not sure whether the grumpiness is a façade or not. Because really, it's what, 9 pm? That's totally a normal time to come over, right?

“I was thinking sorta? I don’t have any machines to hook you up to right now, I’m afraid, ‘cause apparently it’d look weird to carry a ton of machines in my bag and also Herms told me not to. He knows I’m here, by the way, so if you’re gonna stab me or anything, he’s gonna be seriously pissed off. Mostly. Actually I think he might give you the grumpy stuffy version of a high five first, but then he would totally kill you. With, like, math or something.”

Hannibal laughs, and the wince of pain is less obvious than a few days ago, so that’s good. 

“I still don’t plan on killing you, kid. Still don’t know where you got that impression,” he says. Definitely less grump. Score.

“You kinda said you were going to, and the scary bald lady keeps waving a gun around and glaring and you know what, this is a pretty hostile work environment, dude! And I’m pretty sure there’s at least a couple labour laws in some country or other you’re breaking.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s just used to dealing with tougher folks than you,” Hannibal says, and Newt is so about to complain because hey, world saving badass science rock star here, but Hannibal rudely continues his sentence before Newt has a chance. “And no one’s gonna hurt you here, not unless you give ‘em a reason. Long as you don’t ruin any kaiju samples or the décor, you’re fine,” he finishes, and that’s actually kind of reassuring.

“So yeah, about the monitoring. I was thinking tonight you tell me more about what you been seeing and about exactly what happened when Otachi’s spawn ate you? And I swear that’s probably relevant and not just me being curious,” he adds at Hannibal’s raised eyebrow. “’Cause whatever’s happening is totally new, and more data is good data, so yeah. That’s what we’re doing. And then maybe figure out what equipment is or isn’t necessary tomorrow. That work for you?”

Hannibal nods to himself, or to Newt, seriously, the lack of eye contact is not conductive to good communication, and does something to the tablet that’s casting a near kaiju blue shade of light on his face.

”I need half an hour to wrap up business,” Hannibal says after a minute or two. ”You can just wait over there,” he says, and gestures to a chair in the corner. Newt shrugs and sits down, rooting through his bag for a notebook and pen. He starts jotting down notes on his own post-kaiju-drift experiences.

\--

Hannibal watches Newt eagerly scribble in his notebooks for a moment. His expressions change with his writing, at times spasming oddly. Hannibal wonders, not for the first time, whether this is a good idea or not. He could probably, theoretically have found another expert, but who would know about whatever shit this was better than the scientist crazy enough to drift with a kaiju twice? And who would agree to it? Geiszler would have to do. Idiot is too curious and excited for his own good, that much is clear. He is Hannibal’s best hope, whatever that might mean for the future.

A short time later he hangs up on his last employee. It’s the HR guy again, with more complaints about the mysterious illness that’s going around the place. Hannibal has no plans to deal with that until he isn’t confined to a bed himself. He has no sympathies for anyone in less pain than himself. Granted the pain killers he’s on right now are pretty damn effective and he can’t feel a thing unless he makes any very sudden movements, but that’s not the point.

”Hey,” he says, ”you ready?” 

”You bet,” Newt says with a frankly inappropriate amount of excitement, jumping up from his seat. He drags the chair closer, a bit too close, in Hannibal’s opinion, and fishes a new notebook out of his bag. 

”So, where do you wanna start?”  
”Let’s take it from the baby kaiju,” Hannibal replies, repressing a shudder at the memory. ”I’m guessing that’s where it started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I'm so sorry I completely abandoned this for like two months you guys. I wrote myself into a plothole and it took me a month to realise that given that I'm the one writing it I can just, you know, start over? Yeah, basically I'm an idiot and I'm sorry. I guess I should blame school work or something, which, totally also a factor but whatever. I will try to get the next chapter up soon, but I'm writing at school, and someone else just showed up so I'm gonna go back to researching cryptozoology like a good little student.

**Author's Note:**

> Shit I swear this will be better after a while. I should probably have proof read this once before posting.


End file.
